


Day Off

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Foxtrot [13]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, The Dollhouse - Fandom
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 11:57:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6237664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the comment_fic prompt: any, any, day off. Tag to Brain Storm. What Ronon and John did during their leave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day Off

After seeing the awkwardness between Sheppard and his ex-wife and Sheppard and his brother at Patrick Sheppard's funeral, Ronon could understand why Sheppard didn't want to go home for a measly two weeks. After all, three weeks on the Daedalus would not have been worth two weeks of all that awkwardness. With Teyla on New Athos and Rodney going back to Earth with his girlfriend (he did finally make a move), Ronon figured he'd just tag along with Sheppard while they went camping and surfing on some beach. Ronon was pretty decent at surfing, for how infrequently he'd been, and it was all right, but he didn't love it like Sheppard did.  
  
When he arrived at the jumper bay with a bag of gear - Sheppard had organized all the camping supplies - Sheppard was practically vibrating with excitement. Once at the beach, Sheppard set up camp with a single-minded focus Ronon didn't think could exist without the peril of a mission hanging over them. But he'd brought two tents, sleeping bags, camp chairs, two and a half week's worth of food just to be safe, clothes and towels, emergency weapons, and all his surfing gear. But mingled in with his surfing gear he'd also brought his copy of _War and Peace_ , a blank notebook like the kind Lorne used to draw in, and a ball of yarn with three tiny metal spears poked through it.  
  
"So," Ronon said, "what's the plan?"  
  
"The plan," Sheppard said, once everything was set up how he liked it, "is to do whatever we want for two weeks."  
  
Ronon nodded. "Okay. What do you want to do first?"  
  
John tipped his head back and looked at the sky. "Take a nap. You?"  
  
Ronon eyed the stretch of beach, untouched by humans for who knew how long. "I'm going for a run."  
  
John grinned at him. "Have fun."  
  
So Ronon took off running. When he get back a couple of hours later, John was still dozing on his towel. _War and Peace_ was open on his chest. They went swimming after that, and then surfing, and then Ronon taught Sheppard how to catch a fish with a spear. Despite Sheppard's protesting, he caught on very quickly, and they made a fire to roast their catch. While Ronon was digging around in Sheppard's tent for the spare mess kit Sheppard insisted he'd brought, a gleam caught his eye. The little ball of yarn still had the tiny metal spears poked through it, but hanging from the spears was the beginnings of what looked like a sock.  
  
Weird.  
  
Ronon grabbed the mess kit, and then he and Sheppard ate. Ronon had never been a good cook, and in his years as a Runner he'd learned to make do with barely palatable food. Sheppard, surprisingly, was a very good cook.  
  
"I spent most of my adult life as a single guy," Sheppard explained when Ronon pointed out how odd that was, as military food was notoriously awful. "I learned to cook for myself whenever I had the chance because food on base usually sucks."  
  
After they'd cleaned up from the meal, Ronon decided to practice some of his forms to let the food settle before they hit the water for more surfing. Sheppard went for a walk instead of a run. He took a little pack with him full of water just in case. Ronon noticed the notebook he took along as well, and he wondered what was up with that, especially after Sheppard said he'd be gone a couple of hours.  
  
Why had Sheppard invited him along if he felt like he had to sneak away to do whatever it was he wanted to do? Maybe it was some kind of Earth thing Ronon didn't understand. Like staring at boxes for hours on end.  
  
When Sheppard got back, he looked happy, refreshed, so Ronon decided that whatever was up with that notebook, it had to be good for Sheppard, and he focused on surfing instead. They surfed till they were exhausted, and then they gathered at the fire once more for food. It was a good thing Sheppard had packed so much, because neither of them had the energy to try to catch anything. As the sun set the planet grew a little chillier, and Sheppard shrugged into a sweatshirt. The fire crackled, and Sheppard told Ronon about campfire traditions on Earth, telling scary stories and tying to fright each other.  
  
"We don't need to tell scary stories," Ronon said. "We deal with Wraith."  
  
"True," Sheppard said. He glanced toward his tent, an anxious expression on his face.

Ronon rolled his eyes. "Look, whatever it is you want to do, I don't care. If you want to read a boring book, I'm not going to judge you. It's your holiday. Do whatever you want."  
  
Sheppard eyed Ronon for a moment, then went to rummage in his tent. When he returned, it was with his guitar. Ronon wondered why Sheppard had been so weird about his guitar, because everyone knew he could sort of play, but then Sheppard set the guitar on his knees and began picking out a complicated riff, and when he sang –  
  
Ronon blinked, sat up straighter. He'd heard Sheppard sing before, when they wandered the halls and he caught the edges of a song someone else was listening to in a lab or their quarters. Sheppard's voice had never sounded like this, clear and strong and almost sweet.  
  
When the song ended, Sheppard eyed him apprehensively again, but he said, "Sometimes, around campfires, instead of telling stories, people play songs and they all sing together."  
  
Ronon huffed, amused. "You don't want to hear me sing."  
  
"Somehow I don't think we know the same songs anyway." Sheppard fiddled with the pegs on the guitar.  
  
"That was a pretty song, though," Ronon offered. He'd never seen Sheppard so skittish before. "Johnny Cash?"  
  
"No, actually." Sheppard fiddled with the guitar some more. "I wrote it, sort of."  
  
"You can write songs?"  
  
"Sometimes."  
  
"Got any more?"  
  
Sheppard's expression turned shifty again.  
  
Ronon rolled his eyes. "I get it. There's a bunch of stuff you like to do for fun that you don't want the others on base to know about. I won't tell anybody. What you do to relax is pretty much your own business as long as you're not hurting anyone. So if you want to play your songs, play them. I'll listen."  
  
Sheppard stared at him for a long time. Ronon stared back at him, perfectly content to wait this out.  
  
Then Sheppard said, "Okay, well, in the interest of cultural exchange, there are a couple of songs you need to learn if you're going to be hanging out with us Earthlings. And since we're at a campfire, this is a Johnny Cash classic called 'Ring of Fire'."  
  
For the next two weeks, they ran, they surfed, they swam, they sparred, they speared fish, and they napped. Sometimes Ronon wanted to sit in silence and stare at the sea, and Sheppard would sit beside him, sketching away in his notebook. One morning Ronon pretended to stay asleep while Sheppard laid out a towel and went through a series of exercises that looked suspiciously like the yoga stuff a lot of the women on base did that the men laughed at. He hadn't realized Sheppard was that flexible. In the evenings at the fire, Sheppard taught Ronon how to sing a bunch of Johnny Cash songs, but sometimes he'd sit with that ball of yarn and those tiny metal spears ("They're called knitting needles") and make socks.  
  
"You know," Ronon said, flopping down beside Sheppard while Sheppard click-clacked the needles expertly, "Rodney makes fun of you all the time for being stupid, but I think he must only mean science stupid, because you have a ton of random stuff crammed into your head, don't you?"  
  
The corner of Sheppard's mouth curved up in something a little too bitter to be a smile. "You could say that."  
  
"I get why you wouldn't want anyone else to know about making socks," Ronon said. "It's not very manly."  
  
"No," Sheppard agreed, "it isn't."  
  
"It's kinda cool, though. To be able to make your own clothes like that." Ronon watched the firelight gleam off of the needles. "I'll keep your secret. I promise."  
  
"Thanks, Ronon," Sheppard said softly.  
  
"When you get to a safe stopping point, you should teach me a song you wrote."  
  
Sheppard smiled. "I can do that."


End file.
